The Redemption of MarySue
by Michele McNally
Summary: Elanor was just your average MarySue, self insert character. That is, until she got a personality. It's been done before, but I'm trying to do it right. REVISED.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this story with the exception of Elanor. The other characters, and situations are taken from The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien.

References to other works of literature, movies or television shows are the property of their respective owners.

Reviews are appreciated, but not required. If you have something constructive or complementary to say, please do by all means. If you only want to bash this work or let me know that you hated it, and think I should die, please refrain from reviewing. We'll both save some energy.

Do not read this unless you have a sense of humor.

* * *

**Prologue:**

Lady Elanor the Brave, Shield-maiden of Gondor and foster-daughter to the King, sat one day on her balcony that overlooked the White Tree of Gondor. Her long brown hair, held neatly away from her face by two silver combs, swayed in the morning breeze, as did her dark red dress. She was leaning her head on her folded arms, thinking of the years past, and the events that had led her to be standing in the High Palace of the White City, with scores of ladies-in-waiting to cater to her every whim.

It had been only a few years ago that she had been working as a barmaid in the town of Bree, at the Inn of the Prancing Pony.

* * *

Half-empty tankards of beer clashed against each-other, precariously balanced on the chipped and dirty wooden tray in Elanor's hand. Her free hand gripped a filthy dishtowel as she pushed open the door to the kitchens of the Prancing Pony. Dropping the tray for one of the dishwashers to take care of, she wiped her hair, damp with sweat, away from her eyes. The dishtowel now stuffed into the pocket of her apron, she wiped her hands on her skirts and peered into the common room of the inn.

He was there again. Her heart had been set pounding yet again, as it had done each time she heard the patrons of the Inn talking of Strider, the Ranger from the North. He had been to the Inn twice already, yet she had never spoken to him. Peeking through the door at the man, Elanor promised herself that tonight she would approach him.

With a tray full of fresh drinks, she set out into the common room, watching the table of four Hobbits in the corner with interest. Silently she handed the drinks to her patrons, ignoring their leers and rude comments. Now there was only one pint of ale left on the tray.

His.

She lifted her chin as she made her way to his table, smiling pleasantly as she placed his drink in front of him, hoping to catch his eye. He looked up at her, and she found herself staring into the beautiful blue eyes of Strider.

"Thank you," he spoke in a low and raspy voice, "my Lady." He flipped a coin onto her tray, and she picked it up, clutching it in her hand wordlessly. She took a step back, trying desperately to think of something to say. Then she noted that he was looking at her oddly, and realized with embarrassment how silly she must look, just standing there. She turned to go, but stopped after a step, and looked back.

He looked up at her again, flashing those beautiful blue eyes. "My Lady?"

Her breath caught. "Sir," she squeaked. Then, for fear that her legs would give out under her, she sat at the table, throwing herself desperately into the empty seat. "My Lord, please forgive me. I have heard…they say you are a Ranger of the North, sir. And are called Strider."

He nodded. "I have many names," he said. "In this land, I am known as Strider."

She chewed her lip. "I am Elanor, sir."

Again he nodded. "I know your name. You have served me here before."

Her eyes widened somewhat, but she tried not to let her shock get in the way of her objective. "Sir," she said again. "I wonder, where do you travel next?"

Suddenly the Ranger's eyes took on a whole new light, the blue in them became colder as the narrowed, and Elanor felt as if she were an enemy cornered on the field of battle.

"What business is it of yours?" he asked.

"P-please sir," she stuttered, trying to control her trembling lip. "I meant no offense. I mean only to ask if I may travel with you." She swallowed a lump in her throat, knotting her apron in her clenched fists. "I have to get out of here." She looked back to the kitchen door. "There's nothing for me here."

Strider frowned a leaned forwards over the table to meet her eye in a piercing stare. "You are indeed very brave to ask a Ranger to allow you to travel with him. Or very foolish. What makes you think you would be safe traveling alone with one of the wild folk such as myself?"

She knew he was trying to intimidate her, and she allowed herself a smile. "Because you called me 'Lady'."

Abruptly, Strider straightened in his chair. "I meant to discourage you from taking such fooling chances with strangers, but it seems you are already an adequate judge of character." He sighed. "I shall soon travel to Rivendell, home of the Elves, though I know not when. If you can catch me before I leave, you may accompany me, provided you can keep up. But I warn you, the roads are no longer safe for journeying." He looked up sharply, and Elanor in her elation, leapt from her chair, intent to finish her work as soon as possible. She turned just in time to see a dark-haired Hobbit fall to the floor, and then disappear into thin air.

"Go," Strider hissed from behind her as she stared in wonder. "Attend to your duties as normal. I may be leaving sooner than I had intended."

* * *

Mr. Butterbur of the Prancing Pony didn't like to make it public that his bar-maids had certain, as he put it, "immoral" tendencies. As a result, they had come to a neat agreement; The girls kept their midnight liaisons a secret, and he never troubled them about the extra money they made.

It was this secrecy that had led Elanor to be sneaking past the kitchens late that night. Her latest customer had been a particularly surly man with a ferret, but he had paid her well, so for the moment she kept her complaints to herself. It was past midnight now, and she was tempted to slip into Strider's room for the night, though her intentions were innocent. She just didn't want to chance any unwanted visits from workers of the Inn to her bed that night. One of the cooks had not made a secret of his intentions toward her, and suddenly her own room did not seem so secure.

She bounced on her toes a moment as she tried to remember the location of Strider's rooms. Finally she recalled that he was staying in the South wing of the Inn, in a separate building across the road. She chanced a quick trip to her room for her boots. As she was walking back towards the door, a sudden chill overcame her, and she wondered if she should go back for her cloak, but as the frightful whinny of a horse rang from outside, a crash drew her attention to the front door of the Inn. She dropped to the floor and opened the door a mere crack. The great common room was empty, but from her vantage point she could see through the arched doorway into the foyer as four dark figures swept past. She gasped and jumped back, catching the kitchen door just before it slammed. Breathing heavily, she sprawled back onto her elbows when numerous inhuman shrieks filled the air.

"Nazgul!" she hissed into the darkness.

* * *

The first thing that Elanor became aware of that morning was that she was not very comfortable. As she awoke fully she realized that she had fallen asleep while guarding the door to her tiny bedroom. She sat crouched on the floor, leaning against the door with a dagger in her hand. She stretched her aching back, and jumped when a loud banging started at her door.

"Elanor!" called the voice on the other side of the door. It was Nob, a young worker at the Pony. "Elanor, wake up! The sun's been up near half an hour! We need you for breakfast." Elanor stood quickly and opened the door.

"Sorry," she said sheepishly.

Nob put his hands on his hips. "Well hurry up. I can't do your jobs as well as me own. The Ranger's left this morn', and I don't fancy havin' ta clean his room."

Elanor's eyes widened. "The Ranger's left?"

"Aye well, 'e's leavin'. Along with the Hobbits." Nob shook his head. "Strange business, that."

"Of course," Elanor said quickly. "I'll be down right away." She shut the door abruptly and leapt over her bed. She tore open the shutters and looked down into the streets. Sure enough, Strider and the Hobbits were heading down the road, along with a pony whose back was piled with gear.

Her gasp stuck in the back of her throat, and some strange fire suddenly coursed through her veins, pushing her movements beyond any speed she could ever hope to achieve on her own as she ripped open her drawers, shoving clothing and all the money she had into a pack. Grabbing her dagger and cloak on her way out, she hardly had enough time to pull on her traveling boots before sprinting down the hallway, gathering her wrinkled skirts around her hips for faster movement.

Nearly falling down the last few steps, she flew through the kitchen, grabbing a loaf of bread and an apple that had been put on the counter. Ignoring Mr. Butterbur's shouts, she tore out the door and onto the road. Strider was no longer in sight, but she took off the way she had seen them go. Ranger or not; he was traveling with four Hobbits. That was sure to make him just slow enough that she could catch up with him if she ran fast enough.

She had a limited knowledge about Hobbits, but she knew that they had large feet, which made their tracks easy to follow. Up ahead, men were fixing the large gate of Bree from when the Nazgul had broken it down, and they were more than a little bit annoyed when she launched herself across it, her extra weight knocking them down as they lifted it.

"Sorry!" she called back, putting on some extra speed as a Hobbit came into view. "Strider!" she shouted.

The Hobbits stopped as she ran up to them. Strider, at the front of the group, walked back a few paces and looked at her.

Had she not been hunched over, gasping for breath, Elanor might have laughed at the thought of what she must look like, standing in the middle of the road, her wrinkled dress hiked up to her knees, hair a mess, with her pack strewn over her shoulder, cloak in one hand, and a loaf of bread in the other.

Strider merely nodded at her. "You decided to come along, then."

Elanor shrugged. "It seemed…more interesting…than breakfast," she gasped, taking the opportunity to put her dagger in her boot, where she usually kept it, and slip on her cloak. She broke off a piece of the bread to munch on, but put the rest away and followed Strider as he made his way up the hill. The Hobbits eyed her suspiciously, congregating around the one with the dark hair and large, blue eyes.

She smiled at them, but none of them returned it, nor did they regard her with anything but caution. Suddenly an idea struck her, and she pulled the apple out of her bag.

"Hungry?" she asked. The Hobbit closest to her, which also happened to be the smallest, took the apple with a grin. Elanor relaxed.

It seemed that winning a Hobbit's trust was a relatively simple task.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1:**

Strider looked back at Elanor in annoyance. By his count, the girl had tripped nearly eight times as they made their way through the wild. He shook his head in dismay. They hadn't even reached the marshes yet.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," she said to him as she ran to catch up to the much faster man. "I've never done this before."

"Have you spent all your life in Bree?" he asked her.

She grimaced. "No. I was found wandering in the woods five years ago. I have no memory of my home, nor of myself before that day. The man who found me brought me there, got my job and named me Elanor."

Strider smiled. "It is a good name, after the flowers of the Elven land of Lothlorien."

Elanor looked at the ground. "He said that it suited my beauty."

Strider allowed himself a grin when he noticed that she was blushing. "So it does."

Their passage through the marshes went as smoothly as he had expected, which was to say, not very, and a day later the group topped a hill as the sun set. Strider hesitated, gazing at the ruins that sat atop it.

"This was the great watchtower of Amun Sul," he said, turning to look at the Hobbits. "We will rest here tonight."

He began to walk toward the ruins when he was halted by a hand on his arm.

"Strider," Elanor hissed, her voice full of anxiety. "We should not stay here."

"The Hobbits need their rest," he said. "They are unaccustomed to traveling so far."

"I know but--" She hesitated.

"Elanor," he said sternly, narrowing his eyes. "You hide something."

Her eyes moved quickly, trying to banish the sudden fear she felt, seeing him place his hand on his sword, drew herself up to her full height, which was still a full foot shorter than he, and looked him straight in the eye. "You would do well to listen to my suggestions, Sir," she said softly, so that the Hobbits would not hear. "I am a Seer. And I foretell great danger if we stay here tonight."

"Great danger follows us constantly on this journey," he said dismissively, and she deflated quickly. "Do not confuse your fear for a portent of doom."

The words seemed to strike a chord within Elanor, and she narrowed her eyes at him as he began to walk away.

"I'll remember that, _Aragorn._"

He froze, turning back to her slowly. A quick glance at the Hobbits assured him that they had heard nothing. "You know who I am," he whispered.

"I do. And I know why you travel to Rivendell." Her eyes flicked over to Frodo. "And why four Hobbits choose to leave their homes." His sword was half out of its scabbard before she had a chance to put up her hands. "I mean no harm by it," she said quickly. "I only wish to help."

He looked at her suspiciously. "You are an enemy of the Dark Lord?" he asked, not removing his hand from his sword.

"Down to my very bones."

Still he did not look convinced. "Why should you be believed?"

"Is my word not good enough?"

"I know you not to be an honorable woman," he answered. "I know the lives of bar maidens after dark."

Elanor bristled. "My character was pure enough for Gandalf the Grey, who found me two years ago, and gave me the name of Elanor. Would your friend give such a title to one whom he believed sinister?"

Aragorn stopped in thought, removing his hand from his sword.

"Very well," he said. "For now, at least, you have my trust. But I still say that the Hobbits need rest. Though I will keep night watch for danger, as you have warned me."

"Thank you, Estel," she sighed, moving to sit with the Hobbits, who were now crouched at the base of the ruins, trying to find a comfortable position in which to sleep.

* * *

Elanor tried to find a way to use a backpack as a pillow that wasn't unbelievably uncomfortable. So far, no luck.

At the present moment she had given up comfort, and lay with her eyes tightly shut, pretending to be asleep and listening intently to the conversations of the Hobbits around her. They, save Frodo, were not asleep, and chatting lightly about how hungry they were. Elanor knew that soon they would try to light a fire, and that the fire would surely attract the Nazgul.

Aragorn was off patrolling the border, leaving a small pile of rusty knives as the only defense against the Black Riders. And, just Elanor's luck; he'd only brought enough for the Hobbits.

She could not fall asleep. She had to stay alert. Despite the fact that she was exhausted from walking more than she had in the last three years. The most walking she did in Bree was down to the corner market every once in a while when the Innkeeper needed something and one of the kitchen boys was unavailable, and even then it wasn't that far, and she quite enjoyed looking at the lovely things that merchants brought in from other lands, such as the last time she was there, when she saw a beautiful bolt of purple fabric, and she remembered thinking that she'd like to buy it, but it was far too expensive for her, but she could make the most beautiful gown out of it, of course she'd have to buy silver buttons somewhere to match the trim--

"Put it out you fools! Put it out!"

Elanor choked on the drool that threatened to spill over her lips as she jumped up off of her bed roll. The Hobbits was crowded around a fire, yelling at each other.

Whoops.

* * *

Elanor found it amazing the way that the light streaming in from the windows in her room in Rivendell made her hazel eyes seem almost violet. She didn't understand how the same colors and light that existed all throughout Middle Earth could seem so much brighter in Rivendell. The light blue fabric of her gown fell like a stream of water past her knees, pooling at her feet, which were now bare. Her hair was still wet from the bath which had washed away the dirt that had covered her face and arms, and lay damp and tangled down her back.

Smiling at her reflection, she picked up the delicate silver comb that lay on the table next to the mirror and began pulling it through her knarled tresses. Combing her long hair was normally a tedious chore, but the Elven comb seemed to smooth out the knots with only one pass. Soon her hair had been brushed smooth and as it dried in the sun, she thought perhaps she should braid it in Elven fashion, but she was unsure of how to do so. Instead she pulled the hair from her face into a thin braid behind her head, securing it with a ribbon that matched her gown, and let the rest of her fair hair fall down her back. In awe she gazed at the mirror, astounded by how different she looked. The ragged dress she had worn for the journey, now torn and filthy, lay in a pile on the floor, disturbing the beauty of the room. Chewing her lip, she shoved the pile of clothing in her bag and then kicked it under the bed. Now the room looked as it should; flawless.

Smiling, she gave herself one last, quick look in the mirror and marched out of the room, eager to go exploring. She had never been in the Elven Paradise of Rivendell, though she had heard many a traveler's tale in the two years that she had worked at the Prancing Pony. Now that she actually walked the halls of the House of Elrond, her feet still bare, she found that it lived up to everything she had heard about it. If anything, the city was more than she had ever expected, and suddenly Elanor wondered if there were words in existence that could describe the beauty of the city that Aragorn had called Imladris.

A voice drew Elanor's attention to her left, where she spied Merry and Pippin, munching happily on bread that she guessed they had taken during breakfast, talking softly to each other. Pippin greeted her cheerily the moment he saw her, waving her over to joing them. The youngest Hobbit had taken quite a liking to her during their trip.

"Have you seen Frodo?" was the first thing she had asked Pippin upon sitting down. The injured Ring-bearer, whisked away by the steed of Arwen Evenstar, had been in with Lord Elrond when the rest of them had wearily arrived in Rivendell. Elanor herself had slept until nearly lunchtime, but the two Hobbits looked as if the hadn't slept at all.

"He is still resting," said Merry, looking at her with a small amount of awe in his voice. Though she had been unable to save Frodo at Weathertop, she had fought bravely, which granted her the respect of her traveling companions. True, she had stolen one of the knives from Sam, but he held his own with his frying pan. "Lord Elrond says that there's to be a council of sorts when he awakes."

Elanor nodded. "He is lucky to be alive."

The two Hobbits abruptly looked away. Elanor blushed with embarrassment at the discomfort her statement had caused her friends. Obviously, the last thing they wished to think about was Frodo's death.

A breeze blew a few stray leaves towards the end of the hall, stopping at the feet of a figure that none of the three had known was there. Her long dark hair moved fluidly with the breeze, and though she did not speak, Elanor could hear the voice of Arwen Evenstar beckoning her.

With a familiar pat of Pippin's arm, Elanor took her leave of the young Hobbits and approached the Elf, noting grimly how even in her new Elven gown, Arwen's beauty made Elanor feel plain and uninteresting.

"Good morning, Lady Arwen," she said formally, with a small bow.

"You mean good afternoon," Arwen smiled, and the superior façade about her faded. She now looked friendly and warm. "You have slept for the better part of the day. Was the journey so long?"

Elanor smiled. "It was more excitement than I've had for a very long time, my Lady."

Arwen put up a hand. "Address me by name, Elanor, if I may do the same for you."

"Of course…Arwen."

"I have just been to see Aragorn." Her eyes flicked over Elanor's face briefly, noting the small smile that graced the young girl's face. "He has told me that you have the gift of Foresight."

Elanor shifted nervously. "I know some things," she muttered.

"I too share this gift," said Arwen, giving Elanor and strange look that made the younger girl swallow nervously. "I feel I should warn you, as I know you are…new to the Gift." Her eyes flashed to Elanor again, as if testing her reaction.

Elanor, for the most part, ignored it. "Yes?" she asked after a moment.

"The Sight does not always serve as a warning of that which can be avoided," Arwen said. "Often, what we see will still come to pass, regardless of any attempt to stop it." Arwen placed her hand on Elanor's shoulder comfortingly, as she knew the young girl was thinking of the Wraith attack that she had seen, but had been unable to stop.

"Remember that."

* * *

Elanor was all too aware of the fact that she was the only woman attending Elrond's council meeting. She was reminded of it every two seconds, when another pair of eyes would slide over to her. By her count, there had been two looks of concern from Strider and from Gandalf, next to whom she currently sat, a nod of thanks from Frodo, who flanked the wizard's other side, five of disdain, seven of confusion, and one fairly lustful glare from an old Dwarf that Elanor found herself content to ignore.

Her reunion with Gandalf had been bittersweet, but all too brief, and she had found herself swept up in the Council before she could even hope to refuse. She looked warily around the circle. Never had she seen such an array of what she couldn't help but think of as "creatures". She still found it difficult to tear her eyes from the various elves around the circle. Their beauty was unlike any she had ever seen.

Upon her request, she'd had her hair braided by two Elven maidens and, in yet another borrowed gown, she could almost pass for an elf, were it not for the freckles about her nose, and the fact that she barely passed five feet tall. She let out a sigh and continued to marvel at the Elves' beauty, only stopping after one of Elrond's sons sent her an icy glare.

She straightened abruptly. The Council was about to begin.

When Elrond spoke, his very presence alone commanded attention. There was not a single member of the Council who was not completely focused on the words and movements of the Lord of Imladris.

That is, until seventeen seconds into the Council, when the ring was brought out, and everyone began bickering like children.

Boromir of Gondor was pleading for the use of the ring against the forces of Mordor. Aragorn had curtly put down the idea, but in the process, his true identity had been revealed to the entire council, and icy glares were now passing between the two men.

Throughout everything, Gandalf kept a close eye on Elanor. She was sitting rigidly in her seat, staring around the circle in wonder. Gandalf forced himself to focus on the discussion. He could sense a fight brewing. He stole a glance at the girl beside him, and saw that she seemed to be reaching the end of her patience, tapping her fingers on her knee irritably. Soon the fight was inevitable, as Gimli the Dwarf leapt up and insulted the race of Elves, who happened to be sitting right next to him. Soon each member of the council, save Frodo and Elanor were on their feet. As Gandalf was trying to restore order, taking the unusual route of shouting a lot, they were interrupted by a loud whistle. Gandalf turned. Elanor stood on her chair, two fingers in her mouth. Gandalf had expected something of the like from her, but the other members of the Council were too busy staring in shock to resume their argument.

"Well," she said, putting her hands on her hips. "Might I say how utterly impressed I am with the fine decision-making skills exhibited by the sophisticated members of this Council." Her sarcasm was blatant, and the group of males in front of her grew quite angry and astonished that a woman would dare address them in such a manner.

"Please," she said, sitting down again. "Don't let me interrupt you. By all means, continue this petty squabbling." She was laying it on rather thickly, and Gandalf couldn't help but smile. "After all, this fighting will give us something to keep busy with, while the Enemy destroys the outside world. Unless of course, someone would be brave enough to take the frigging Ring to Mordor."

Suddenly, Gandalf froze. Throughout her speech, Elanor's eyes had wandered around the men in front of her, with the exception of her last sentence. As she spoke the last sentence, her eyes had settled unmistakably on the young Hobbit at her side.

Frodo stood, and the wizard's fears were confirmed.

"I will take it," he spoke in a voice that was much stronger than his slight form would suggest. "I will take the Ring to Mordor. Though…I do not know the way."

Gandalf sighed. "I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins. As long as it is yours to bear."

He looked up at Elanor's face, but the young woman wasn't looking at him. Her eyes were on Aragorn.

"If by my life or death I can protect you, I will." At the sound of Aragorn's voice, Gandalf started. He had not even noticed the man had stood.

"You have my sword."

Elanor looked at Legolas.

"And you have my bow."

Her eyes moved to Gimli.

"And my axe."

Gandalf could not follow her eye to the next speaker, because she had glaced back at Legolas, and was now stifling a giggle.

"You carry the fates of us all, Little One," said Boromir, walking forward. "But if this is indeed the will of the Council, then Gondor will see it done."

"Ha!" came a cry from the bushes, startling nearly everyone as Samwise Gamgee came running out. "Mr. Frodo's not goin' anywhere without me."

Elrond smiled. "No, indeed, it is hardly possible to separate you, even when he is summoned to a secret Council and you are not." The amused look on his face turned swiftly to annoyance as Merry and Pippin came running into the courtyard.

"Oi! We're coming too!" yelled Pippin. "You'd have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us!" cried Merry. Lord Elrond looked like he was beginning to consider the idea.

"Anyway," said Pippin, "you need people of intelligence for this sort of…mission…quest…thing."

"I completely agree with you, Peregrin," said Gandalf. He turned to Elrond and whispered something. Elrond nodded, and Gandalf placed a hand on Elanor's shoulder. Adressing the Council, he seemed to hold her out in front of him.

"Lady Elanor has shown a wisdom beyond her years. Additionally, she has the gift of Foresight. It is for this reason that I believe she would be a valuable asset on our quest."

Elanor gulped. "Me?"

"Her?" Boromir exclaimed, causing Elanor to glare at him immediately. "Gandalf, you cannot be serious. We cannot bring a woman on our quest. The wild roads that we must travel are too dangerous! She would be defenseless!"

"And yet you have no objection to the presence of four Hobbits on your quest," Elanor snapped testily, "who have had just as much experience surviving in the wild as I do! Is it because they are males, and I am a female?"

"Gandalf," Aragorn broke in. "Though I do not doubt that Lady Elanor is no swooning maiden, I must protest her inclusion." He glanced at Elrond for support.

The Elven Lord merely shook his head. "It is for Mithrandir to decide."

"Do you doubt me, Aragorn?" Gandalf asked, with just a hint of challenge in his voice. "Was it not you who told me of the girl's bravery during the Wraith attack?"

General dubious looks spread throughout the Council.

"It's true!" cried out Pippin. "We would not stand here today if not for the Lady's bravery!"

Elanor looked down at Pippin fondly. He and the Hobbits seemed to be on her side along with Gandalf, but the other four members of the Company glared down at her as if she were a nuisance. Gimli was shaking his head.

"There have been many Dwarf women that have fought along side the men in battle," he began, "but surely no maiden of the race of Men can stand against a hoard of Orcs."

Elanor was beginning to get angry.

"Gentlemen," she said, stressing the word a bit too much, "we can debate until the sun sets and rises again, but I tell you it is no use." She crossed her arms. "I'm going," she stated, adding a pout for good measure. "Gandalf said so." She curbed the impulse to stick out her tounge.

Gandalf grinned in a fatherly manner and tugged her hair playfully.

Elrond grinned. "Ten companions. Very well. You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring."

"Great!" said Pippin. "Where are we going?"

* * *

The Council had dispersed. Several had gone away grumbling, and the rejoicing Hobbits had been coaxed away with the promise of visiting with Bilbo, until only Elanor and Gandalf were left.

Elanor still stood with her arms crossed. Gandalf no longer stood next to her, but wandered around the circle of chairs. Finally he stopped and looked at her.

"This doesn't mean I'm not still angry with you, Ata," she said.

Gandalf smiled. She had taken to calling him "Father" in the Elvish tongue shortly after he had found her, and it had stuck.

"You look well," he said. "Has it been only six months since I saw you last? You seem to have grown so much."

"Don't change the subject, Ata."

"Perhaps if I _knew_ the subject, Child?"

"All those years you told me not to leave Bree," she said. "Why couldn't I have come here instead? I would have had a part in this story even so!" There were the beginnings of tears in her eyes.

"And yet it was the tales of your bravery during the Wraith attack that convinced Lord Elrond that you should be included in the Council," Gandalf pointed out.

Elanor narrowed her eyes. "That was not the reason, and you know it. Arwen showed as much bravery as I in the face of the Ringwraiths."

"Indeed, but your ordeal won you the respect of the Hobbits, and of Strider."

His logic was almost painful to Elanor. She sank to one of the chairs. Gandalf was at her side in an instant. Pride alone kept her from weeping, but she curled until it seemed she was trying to disappear inside herself.

"Was there no other way, Ata?" Gandalf shook his head, but she did not see for the hair over her eyes. Gently he brushed it back behind her ears. "For three years I worked in that horrible place. How I wish I could have stayed with you. I was only sixteen when I came to Bree."

"I do regret leaving you, Child, but you know that it had to be done."

Slowly she nodded. "Ata," she said in a small voice. "I'm frightened of the journey ahead."

He smiled and kissed her head. "Do not fear, Sweet. I will protect you. Through darkness and flame."

His words were meant to be reassuring to her, but he did not notice her face suddenly blanch and her hands clench around the fabric of her gown.

* * *

The Fellowship had been traveling for the better part of two weeks, and were currently resting upon reaching Hollin. Legolas looked suspiciously at the young girl that Gandalf had sought fit to bring on their quest. His keen Elf ears had caught her calling him "Ata" and when he had shared this with Aragorn, had learned that Gandalf had found the girl wandering in the woods five years earlier. He felt something not quite right about the girl, and resolved to watch her closely, as he had been doing the past week.

She was dressed inappropriately in a man's tunic and breeches, and had a small and lightweight sword at her hip. Her hair was plaited into two long braids, and she was currently chewing on the end of one, sitting next to Frodo and Sam as the Hobbits cooked a few sausages. She looked up with interest to Boromir, teaching Merry and Pippin swordplay. Grinning, she sat next to Aragorn, who was smoking his pipe. The Ranger would occasionally explain a move to her, or shout something encouraging to one of the Hobbits.

Merry dropped his blade, and Elanor laughed.

The Hobbit glared at her playfully. "Oi! Maybe you'd like to try?" he asked her.

At first she had giggled and shook her head, but then she noticed Boromir smirking at her.

"Yes," the man agreed. "Perhaps you could benefit from a lesson or two."

Elanor's eyes narrowed. She didn't like the smug tone to his voice. With a defiant glare she stood, and pulled the sword from the scabbard at her side. The blade hitched on its way out, and slipped from her grip, falling to the ground immediately.

She stared at it for a moment, there on the ground, mocking her. Her eyes closed and a blush crept up into her cheeks, but she grit her teeth and picked up the sword, trying very hard to keep her hand from shaking as she held her blade up.

The first few strikes were small taps against her blade. He didn't seem to be aiming at her, and she parried his sword easily to the side. Then he started to move faster. She retreated, her parries getting considerably more wild. Her foot struck a stone and she tumbled over, landing on her backside. Boromir stood over her, shaking his head.

"You are brave, My Lady," he said, "but that will not save you from an opponent who is stronger and faster than you are."

She scowled and moved to get up. Suddenly she cried out and toppled back down, breathing heavily. Nearly every male in the Company stood in concern. Boromir, who was closest to her, quickly sheathed his sword and moved to help her.

"My Lady, are you alr--Oof!"

His question had been cut off by Elanor's elbow in his stomach. Her foot tripped him and he was soon on his back, his own sword in her hand, pointing at his throat. Elanor was now standing over him, with no hint of an injury.

"You may be stronger and faster," she said, "but I'm devious and dishonorable." She smirked, and turned his sword around, handing it back to her. She smiled at Gandalf before snapping her fingers. "Oh yes--I'd suggest taking cover. Something is coming."

Legolas snapped his head up, looking into the distance. He could just barely make out the sight of something coming toward them. He alerted the Fellowship, and soon they were crouching out of sight of a group of Crebain. From his hiding spot, Legolas watched Elanor sit calmly behind a rock as the birds passed overhead. His sensitive eyes had only just barely been able to make them out in the distance when she had warned them. There was no way she could have seen it.

He suppressed a scowl. There was _definitely_ something strange about this girl.

* * *

The Mines of Moria: Desolate, dark, and quite stinky.

Or at least, that was the impression it imposed on Elanor. To hear Gimli talk, it was as if Moria was paradise. She supposed to him it was. She was sitting crouched on a rock, staring at three doorways. It was like a riddle she half-remembered from childhood. One way led to safety, the others to death.

Of course, to be technical, in their case the other two led not to death but extra days of walking, but to Elanor it was the same difference.

She tried to resist the urge to fall peacefully to sleep, knowing that it was only a matter of time before Gandalf found his way. But the four-day trek through Moria had been very hard for her. She had climbed staircase after long, winding staircase, and had stubbornly refused to show any sign of her fatigue. Merry and Pippin, not restricted to the boundaries of pride, had collapsed as soon as Gandalf had mentioned the word "rest".

As much as she wished to sit with her friends, the mere sight of the two Hobbits made her realize her exhaustion. So she stood and walked over to Aragorn and Boromir, who were smoking their pipes while Legolas stood by.

Upon seeing her, Aragorn shifted over to make room for her.

"And how does the evening find you, my lord?" she asked, in a playful mimic of a formal greeting.

"Weary, my lady," he said between puffs of his pipe. "And yourself?"

She let out a sigh and placed her face on her hands, giving him a miserable look. "Never better."

He laughed. Boromir grinned as well. She tried to ignore the glare that Legolas gave her, but found it too irritating.

"Legolas," she called. "Relax."

The Elf looked flustered, and stalked away, choosing the Dwarf as better company than she. Aragorn looked on in concern.

"I hope they do not quarrel," he said softly, watching the Dwarf and Elf.

Elanor patted his leg. "Don't worry, they'll be good friends by the end of this journey."

Both men raised an eyebrow. "The end?" Boromir repeated.

Aragorn exchanged a look with him, and then turned to Elanor. "Elanor," he addressed her casually. "Do you know the outcome of our quest?"

Elanor froze, not sure of what to say. "I don't…exactly know the end," she said slowly, groping for words. "I know some things. I see parts and portions."

Boromir leaned forward, suddenly seeming very interested. "What do you see?"

Aragorn noticed her draw back from him slightly. Then her eyes glazed just a bit.

"I see shadow," she said. "Shadow and flame. I hear drums. And I fear what accompanies them." Her eyes stayed trained downward, and she refused to look at either of them. Instead she glanced up at Gandalf, who was puzzling over the doorways. Unable to stop herself, she yawned.

Her eyesight began to get fuzzy, and she was dimly aware of Aragorn's strong arm around her shoulder.

"Try and rest, gwathel," the man said to her. "Gandalf will take the watch tonight."

As she was drifting off to sleep, Legolas stared at his friend. He had called her "gwathel".

_Sister._


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2:**

Elanor thanked whatever Gods above that she'd had the foresight-no pun intended-to pack a change of clothing. She doubted there was a soap in all of Middle Earth strong enough to get Goblin blood out of leather. Hair that had worked its way free of her braids clung to the back of her neck in the humidity of the mine. She had begun to get claustrophobic hours into the journey, but had said nothing. Now, as they continued their voyage up a narrow staircase, it was beginning to take its toll on her.

Despite all her efforts, she had fallen to the back of the group. Even through the snowy mountain she had managed to keep ahead of at least two members of the Fellowship at all times, but her exhaustion was getting to her, and it was all she could do to lift herself up one stair after another without collapsing.

To her intense relief, the company reached the end of the stairs, coming into a large room, littered with Dwarf carcasses. She leaned against the wall, trying to inconspicuously gain some rest. Her chest moved up and down swiftly as she tried to keep the wheeze in her breath below hearing level. The Elf heard it though, and looked at her with a mixture of concern and satisfaction.

She tried to focus on what Gandalf was saying; reading from a weathered book in one of the Dwarf's dead hands, but something else caught her eye. Pippin was reaching out to touch the feathers of an arrow, imbedded in the carcass of a Dwarf, sitting precariously on the edge of a well. Quickly she grabbed his hand, and shook her head at him.

Embarrassed, the Hobbit turned away, giving Gandalf his attention. Breathing a small sigh of relief, Elanor turned as well, and the hilt of her sword caught the bucket sitting on top of the well, sending it crashing down. To her horror, the rattling chain pulled the Dwarf carcass down with it, echoing through the darkness of the mine.

Elanor turned to see every member of the Fellowship staring at her.

She pointed at Pippin.

* * *

The Balrog was so close behind her that Elanor was certain her cloak was on fire. She wasn't about to look back and check. She forced herself not to look down as they ran across narrow bridges with no railings, swallowing the fear that one misstep would result in her death, but she was falling behind yet again. The weariness in her legs and body temporarily forgotten, she forced herself onward. Gandalf was still behind her, she knew, and would not let her fall too far, but as they neared break in the stone, she skidded to a halt.

Legolas jumped nimbly to the other side. Gandalf followed, not quite as gracefully. In the back of her mind, Elanor knew she should jump now, but she had been at the back of the group. Aragorn had just tossed Sam across the gap to Boromir, and as Gimli jumped, she readied herself for the leap.

She ran forward, but the moment she jumped, the stone gave way beneath her and she fell, screaming. By some twist of fate, Sam grabbed her. She knew better than to be relieved at the strength of a Hobbit, and tried to grip the side of the stone. As Legolas was reaching down to take her hand, he faltered, now starting up at something behind her.

"Lean forward," she heard Aragorn yell, and then the large piece of the staircase was teetering towards her, ready to crush her as Frodo and Aragorn glided forward. The Elf grabbed her arm, Boromir grabbed her other, and the elf and man pulled, nearly flinging her onto the rock just as the slabs of stone met and Frodo and Aragorn leapt to safety.

Breathing hard, she hardly had time to collect herself before she was yanked forward by the Elven Prince.

"Lead them on, Aragorn."

She stopped at the voice of Gandalf, looking at the wizard with wide eyes. But again she was pulled along, crossing the narrow bridge far too quickly for her liking, swallowing her dizziness. But as the Company reached the other end of the bridge, she stopped, not allowing herself to be pulled any longer. This seemed to cause the entire Company to stop with her, though she knew they would have anyway, once they noticed that Gandalf had not followed.

She shook her head and darted forward, but she was caught by Boromir's strong arms. Elanor was forced to watch as Gandalf turned to face the Balrog. Powerful words flowed off the old man's tongue and the others turned their eyes away from the blinding light that emanated from his staff. Elanor's vision went blurry, but she blinked the spots away in time to see the Balrog's whip snap up as it fell.

Pure adrenaline coursed through her veins and she threw Boromir off of her, crashing past Legolas and careening down the bridge, grabbing the man she had come to know as a father by the front of his robes. But the force of his weight was too much for her. She was thrown to her knees. If not for the fact that Gandalf managed to grip the side of the stone, she would have fallen too.

"No!" she shrieked.

Gandalf looked up at her tenderly. "Take care of them," he whispered. "Fly! You fools!"

There was a sickening tearing of fabric, and the wizard fell.

"Ata!!!" screamed Elanor. "Father!!!" An orc-arrow pierced her shoulder, and knocked her backwards into the arms of Aragorn, who lifted her with ease. Frantically she tried to crawl back to the edge of the bridge, almost knocking Aragorn over, desperate to get one last look.

"_DADDY!!!!" _

And everything went black.

* * *

Gingerly Aragorn lay Elanor down on the stone ground. Legolas was there in a moments time, placing a hand over her forehead and against her cheeks.

"She is asleep," he said softly as Aragorn wrapped her wounded shoulder in cloth. The elf looked at his friend. "She's been exhausted for days."

"Why did she not speak of this sooner?" Aragorn cursed.

Legolas looked down at the prone girl. "She shares her father's pride."

Nearby, Merry looked up, tears still streaming from his eyes. "Ata," he said. "It means 'father?'"

Aragorn nodded, lifting Elanor into his arms. "Legolas," he said. "Get them up."

"Let me take her," said Boromir, offering his arms. "You have enough to worry about now."

"Too right," Aragorn agreed. "By nightfall these hills will be swarming with orcs. We must reach the woods of Lothlorien."

In Boromir's arms, Elanor stirred and opened her eyes, though she didn't make a sound. As the man carried her away, she looked back at the entrance to the caves, letting the tears fall down her face.

* * *

"Stay close young Hobbits!"

The gruff whisper of the Dwarf lulled Elanor sharply out of her sleep. Groggily she peeked through her eyelashes at the Company, currently trekking though the woods. Still exhausted, she buried her head in Boromir's chest and drifted, Gimli's ramblings about an Elf-witch barely registering with her. In her mind echoed a beautiful voice, singing an Elvish song, and she let herself fade away.

Suddenly she felt the man holding her stop short, and a new voice jarred her out of her half-conscious state.

"The Dwarf breathes so loud we could have shot him in the dark."

Her head snapped forward and she saw that they were surrounded by tall, blonde elves. Aragorn was speaking with one of them in Elvish.

"You bring great evil with you. You can go no further."

Boromir stirred. "Please!" he shouted, perhaps a little louder than he expected. The elf's sharp eyes turned to him, and to the girl in his arms. "She is in need of care."

The elf stopped, turning to the others. "Let them pass!" he said suddenly, and stretched out his hands. "Give her to me. She will be taken care of."

Boromir took a step back, looking at the elf with suspicion. "No."

The elf drew himself up to his full height and stared the man in the eyes, but a soft hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Haldir," Elanor whispered weakly. Tears brimmed her eyes and she climbed out of Boromir's arms. Her weak legs hit the ground unsteadily and she half-fell, half-threw herself into Haldir's arms, crying his name as she gave in to hysterics.

"Shh," he crooned, stroking her hair. "Avo gusto, Elanor. Thelin le veriathan." She pulled away from him, shaking her head. "Man prestad?"

"Ata," she cried. "Hon gwannad."

Haldir's eyes widened and he crushed the girl in a hug. "An le nurnen," he said. "Na hon linnatham."

Elanor sniffled, and Haldir reached up to wipe away the last of her tears. He stood, holding her hand.

"Come," he told the others, who stood watching in awe. "She is waiting."

* * *

Upon seeing the beautiful stairs that led to the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn's home, Elanor was glad for the brief rest she found in Boromir's arms. Yet these were stairs she would gladly climb, no matter how tired she was. Haldir followed her as she tore up the steps, the Fellowship close behind. When they all reached the top she fell to her knees, bowing.

To say that Lady Galadriel was beautiful would be an insult. She was beyond any beauty that any of the Fellowship had seen before. To Elanor, she was a sight for sore eyes. The Elvish Queen came forward, almost floating on air, with a smile on her face. She placed a hand on Elanor's head and the girl turned her dirty face up to see her.

"I knew you would come."

Elanor stood and rejoined the Fellowship.

"Nine there are here, yet ten there were set out from Rivendell," said Celeborn. "Tell me, where is Gandalf, for I much desire to speak with him."

Galadriel looked at Elanor's tear-streaked face, and into Aragorn's eyes. "He has fallen into shadow," she whispered.

Legolas glanced at Elanor, whose face turned downward. "He was taken by both Shadow and Flame," he said softly. "A Balrog of Morgoth. For we went needlessly into the net of Moria."

"Needless were none of the deeds of Gandalf in life."

Elanor winced. She was overcome once more with the desire to cry, but fought it. As she sniffled, the Elvish song filled her head again, and now she knew it was Galadriel's voice that sang it. The melody soothed her pain until it ebbed away.

"Do not let your hearts be troubled. Go now and rest, for you are weary with sorrow and much toil. Tonight you shall sleep in peace."

The Fellowship began to depart, but Elanor stayed where she was. Celeborn came forward, placing a hand on her face. She mimicked the gesture, taking her hand away when he did. He moved away, and Galadriel was there. She placed both hands on the sides of Elanor's face, and kissed her forehead.

"Go, my child," she said. "I shall have your wounds tended, and a bath drawn for you."

With a nod she followed Haldir down the stairs, pausing only to look at Legolas, who still stood at the edge of the talan, watching her with confusion.

* * *

Two days went by before any of the Fellowship saw Elanor again. She walked into their camp just before sunset looking every inch an elf, if not for her ears. Her skin had been scrubbed milky white, and she wore a gown of white fabric that pooled around her as if it were made from the very clouds above. Her hair was down, the first it had been since Rivendell, and it looked as if it had been covered in the healing oils of the Elves.

The Hobbits jumped on her the moment she arrived. Gimli greeted her warmly, as did Boromir. Legolas stared at her for a moment, and then nodded. When she saw Aragorn, she bowed her head.

"Aragorn, I know you're angry with me for not telling you," she began.

"I am not angry," he replied. "Just surprised."

"I was found here. Five years ago." She looked at the trees. "I was named here."

"Why would you leave Lorien in favor of Bree?" asked Legolas, clearly biased.

"It was Gandalf's decision," she said softly, and they lowered their eyes. "He said it was…my destiny."

Aragorn nodded in understanding. "Will you stay with us?"

She shook her head. "I have my own talan." She pointed to the trees. "It's comforting to be back. This was my home for two years. Nothing else here ever was."

"Tonight, then?" he asked. "Eat with us."

"I would be honored."

After the meal had been eaten, it was growing dark. Elanor sat against a tree. Aragorn smoked his pipe and Gimli was already dozing in his bed. Legolas came to stand next to her, and she offered him a friendly smile.

"The finest rockets ever seen:

they burst in stars of blue and green,

or after thunder golden showers

came falling like a rain of flowers

Though it doesn't do them justice by a long road," said Sam.

Elanor had looked up as the Hobbit had begun to sing, and now had tears in her eyes. She brushed them away stubbornly and smiled.

"That was beautiful Sam," she said.

"Will you sing something, Elanor?" asked Pippin.

Elanor began to protest, but the Hobbits insisted. Legolas looked down at her.

"Sing," he prompted. "It is good for an aching heart."

She sighed. "Alright."

She cleared her throat and looked to the stars. Then, in a soft and mournful voice, she began to sing:

The night is cold, the wind is high

A wave of light breaks through the sky

I watch the light and wonder when

This wind will sweep me home again

It doesn't really matter

What I write here

Because you're not reading it

But trust me

The lyrics are significant to the plot

Still you probably just skipped

This whole part, didn't you?

I don't appreciate that at all

I will hold on, I will get through

I will not die away from you

I don't know how, don't know when

But I will see my home again.

Silent tears were by now running down the Hobbits' faces. Sam was sniffling. Legolas looked wistfully up towards the stars. Gimli had drawn his hood over his head. Aragorn was looking pensive, but Boromir looked inches away from crying

"I am glad you've found your home again, Elanor," said Frodo softly.

Elanor looked over at him and sighed. "Yeah… right."

* * *

"Take some rest, these borders are well protected."

Elanor's ears perked up as she overheard Aragorn, speaking to Boromir. She crept closer, sitting behind a tree that kept her just out of sight of the men. She knew she should feel guilty for eavesdropping, but she couldn't help herself.

"I will find no rest here," said Boromir, his voice weaker than normal. He sounded almost haunted. "I heard a voice inside my head. She spoke of my father and the fall of Gondor." From her hiding place, Elanor saw Aragorn's face shift to shock. "She said to me, even now there is hope left, but I cannot see it. It is long since we had any hope." A wave of sympathy washed over her; the man sounded broken. "My father is a noble man, but his rule is failing, and the people lose faith. He looks to me to set it right, and I would do it, I would see the glory of Gondor restored." His mood changed. "Have you seen it Aragorn? The white tower of Ecthelion glimmering like a spike of pearl and silver, its banners caught high in the morning breeze. Have you ever been called home by the clear ringing of silver trumpets?"

Aragorn smiled sadly. "I have seen the White City, long ago."

Boromir smiled at Aragorn, looking at him like a brother. "One day, our paths will lead us there, and the tower guard will take up the call, 'the lords of Gondor have returned!'"

Elanor bit her lip to keep it from quivering. They were all so very far from home. Even in Lothlorien, which had been more of a home to her than any other place in Middle Earth, she was not at home. Her mind strayed to her true home, the tall tower in which she lived… but she pushed it away.

No. That was not her home anymore. And her companions must never know where she really came from. They would never understand.

Boromir was still brooding long after Aragorn left. The sound of a small, polite cough caught him by surprise and he spun to see Elanor.

"Hello," she said.

"My Lady."

"Boromir," she began, sitting next to him. "I'm sorry if my song upset you."

He gave her a look. "You heard."

She smiled. "A little."

He looked down, and stood up, looking to excuse himself. "You must forgive me, Lady. I—"

"What's it like?"

He looked back at her. "Pardon?"

"Gondor. What's it like there?"

His eyes seemed to light up at the question, and a smile spread across his face. "Oh, 'tis a beautiful place. With cities as great and beautiful as the mountains that border it."

"And your father is the king?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Long ago, the Stewards took up rule of Gondor, pledging to rule until such a day that the king returns."

Elanor nodded. That explained something. "Oh. No wonder you almost punched Aragorn at the Council." She laughed to herself. "Throne envy…"

Boromir looked offended. "My Lady, I may not have taken news of the King's existence with grace, but I do not begrudge him his throne. Should he choose to accept the responsibility."

"No, of course not," Elanor said quickly. "I didn't mean…I meant no offense, Sir."

"There is no need for such formal titles, child. I am as far from my glittering halls as you are from your village."

Elanor rolled her eyes. "Care to make a wager on that?" she muttered under her breath. "Tell me more," she said at normal volume, placing a hand on his arm.

He shook his head. "To describe Minas Tirith, I can find no words that do it justice. Our journey soon turns to Gondor, where I shall leave the Fellowship. If you should wish, I will bring you there, and you will look upon the majesty of my home with your own beautiful eyes."

Elanor smiled at the compliment, and then grew very silent.

"My Lady? Did I say something wrong?"

"No. That's a lovely idea, Boromir. I would be honored to see your home." She stood. "It is late, I should retire."

"Of course, my Lady."

* * *

Shortly after her extremely depressing meeting with Boromir, Elanor sat by the edge of her favorite hot spring. She dangled her bare feet in the warm water, creating ripples that spread throughout the length of the pool. Absently she stared at her distorted reflection, refusing to cry. She had cried far too much already. Tears had failed to bring Gandalf back; she did not expect them to do anything more than sting her eyes.

"Elanor?" called a soft voice. The pond water stilled and Elanor saw the reflection of Galadriel, standing just behind her. Elanor sighed, and turned to the Elven Queen, who knelt next to her, placing a hand on her face.

"Avo estel awartho," she said.

Elanor jerked away. "Hope?" she spat. "What hope is there? I tried, Galadriel. I tried so hard to change things but none of it worked. What good is my presence when I can do nothing to change what I see?"

"My dear child…did you ever truly believe that you could?" Galadriel asked.

Elanor paused, looking up at her friend brokenly. "No. I never really did."

"Perhaps that is your problem." A small smile graced Galadriel's lips, but her face soon turned serious again. "What else do you see?"

"I see…one more thing. And then after that, the future is as uncertain to me as it is to everyone else." She took a breath. "Boromir, he-- He does not live."

"Do you see any way that you could change this occurrence?"

"I don't know! Galadriel, I'm so frightened. I thought that if I had come I could change things. That maybe I wouldn't have to face the battle ahead but-- I can't stand against the Uruk-Hai! I'll end up dead…or worse. I cannot go with them!"

Galadriel stood, clasping Elanor by the hands and pulling her up. "So much fire in you. Since the moment I first laid eyes on you. You have always had a strong will. Never lose that fire, Little One. That will may one day shape the futures of us all." She let go of Elanor's hands. "Whatever you decide, you shall always have a home here."

After she was gone, Elanor stood for a very long time.

"Thank you, Galadriel," she whispered, putting her hands on her hips. "That wasn't confusing _at all!"

* * *

_

Sitting in one of the lovely Elven boats with Pippin, Merry tried to hide the fact that he was upset. They were getting ready to move downriver, leaving Lothlorien. This fact was bad enough, but for one detail:

Elanor was not going with them.

Though he knew it was the best option for her, the Hobbit couldn't help feeling slightly betrayed. Gender differences notwithstanding, Elanor was a member of the Fellowship. He had grown quite fond of her during the journey, and judging by the tears in her eyes as Galadriel gave them their parting gifts, she was fond of them all as well.

He shared a look with Pippin.

It just wasn't fair.

* * *

"My Lady."

Elanor turned at the familiar voice. Boromir stood nearby, clad in the green cloak that Galadriel had given all the members of the Fellowship. She looked away.

He did not speak for a moment, watching her in silence. Then he approached her.

"You are committed to your course, then?" he asked.

She nodded. "I will be of no use to you. It was foolish of me to accompany the Fellowship."

"Twas Gandalf's will."

Still she could not bring herself to look him in the eye. "Even wizards make mistakes."

He sighed. "Very well." He took her hand and kissed it. "I regret only that you will not see the city of Minas Tirith, my Lady. I had longed to walk into Gondor with you at my side."

She winced, and he began to walk back to the boats.

"Boromir!" she called after him. "There is a battle ahead. Beware of arrows."

He looked at her in confusion, but nodded as he walked away. Elanor breathed a shaky breath, and went to join Galadriel on the shore to see off the boats.

* * *

There she stood, once again in Elven garb, her hand up in a sad goodbye as the boats floated passed. Merry and Pippin waved back, and Gimli nodded to her. Though Boromir would not meet her gaze, the looks of Aragorn and Legolas conveyed understanding and sympathy, and made her feel a bit better. As Sam wiped a tear away, she felt worse.

Finally she looked to Frodo. The Hobbit was staring at her. Then her vision blurred, and she heard Boromir's voice.

_"It could have been mine! It should be mine! GIVE IT TO ME!"_

Her breath escaped her and before she knew what she was doing, she was waist deep in the river.

"Wait!" she yelled, trying to run out to the boats. "Please, wait!" The three boats struggled to stop and turn as the water got too deep for Elanor to stand. Grabbing the side of Aragorn, Frodo and Sam's boat, she spit water from her mouth.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I can't let you do this alone."

Frodo threw his arms around her neck, and led her to the shallow water, where Legolas and Gimli's boat had stopped. Galadriel was already at the shore, with a bag.

"What's this?" Elanor asked.

"I could hardly let you make the journey in that dress."

Elanor's mouth dropped open, and she became increasingly aware of how ridiculous she must look, waist deep in the water. "You knew all along what I was going to do, and you still let me jump into a river like a maniac?"

Merry and Pippin giggled.

Galadriel said nothing, but leaned down and kissed Elanor's wet forehead. "Mae theled."

* * *

Elanor emerged from the cover of the trees in her Elven tunic and breeches, and hung her gown over a bush to dry.

"Where is Frodo?"

Elanor froze. The words cut down her spine and she turned around as fast as she could, her unbraided hair whipping through the air. The Hobbit was no where to be seen, and neither was Boromir.

Cursing, Elanor took off into the woods before anyone could tell her not to. Five minutes later she realized in her horror that she hadn't brought her sword, and that though she knew Frodo was in trouble, she had absolutely no idea where he was.

Then she heard the Uruk-Hai.

Fear unlike any other gripped her heart. She was alone in a forest swarming with Urul-Hai, and she was weaponless. She scrambled to the nearest tree and pulled herself into its branches just as the first Uruk cleared the hill. Soon five of them stood below her tree, roaring and shaking the branches.

She was just thanking the Valar that none of them had bows and arrows, when one began to climb the tree. She screamed, and called to the first person she could think of.

"Gandalf!! Help me!!"

There was a brilliant flash of white light, and the Uruks screamed. When the light cleared, they all lay dead, and a man all in white robes, with a white staff and straight white hair stood below the tree.

Looking into his face, she could not believe her eyes.

"Gandalf?" she asked, jumping down from the tree.

He furrowed his brow. "Gandalf?" Realization seemed to sweep over him. "That was what they used to call me. Gandalf the Grey. That was my name."

"Gandalf!"

"I am Gandalf the White. And I come back to you now at--"

He stopped. Suddenly he looked very confused, and looked around the woods, then at Elanor, and then at the woods again.

"I'm rather early aren't I?"

Elanor raised an eyebrow. "Early?"

The strange new Gandalf continued to look around the woods in confusion. "Most unusual. The trees are so must shorter…And the humidity…" He looked up at her again. "Fangorn Forest? Is this Fangorn Forest?"

"Um…I don't think so."

He put his hands on his hips. "Now that is a mystery. Must ask J.T. about that." Elanor's eyes widened in disbelief as he continued. "Hmm. Well, sorry about that. Carry on."

And he disappeared.

Elanor was left staring and the spot where he had just stood. "What the--"

A shout that sounded like Merry interrupted her, and in a flash she remembered.

"Boromir!"

She tore through the trees, her feet barely touching the ground as she ran. Breaking through a clearing, she was faced with the sight of an Uruk archer on the other side of the plain. Between her and the beast was Boromir, with two arrows sticking out of his body.

The archer raised the third.

_"Nooooooooooooooooooooo!"_

Her shout pierced the air as she ran to him. She got to him a moment after the third arrow hit him and he jerked backwards.

And then stood up.

"Ow," he said.

Elanor stopped short. "Ow?"

Boromir looked at her. "Well…it hurt."

"I should think so," she answered. "You've got three arrows sticking out of you."

"Actually I think I'm alright." He pulled one of the arrows out. "They seem to have pierced my clothing and nothing more." He touched one of the arrowheads. "Hmm, quite dull as a matter of fact."

"What? Give me that!" She grabbed the arrow from his hand and looked at it. Sure enough, it was rounded instead of pointed. An idea suddenly came to her, and she threw the arrow as hard as she could at the Uruk Hai archer. The arrow hit him square in the heart and he keeled over, dead.

Elanor's eyebrows were almost floating above her head. A smile slowly spread across her face. As a group of Uruk-Hai advanced toward Merry and Pippin, she stepped in their path.

"Hey!" she shouted. "They're not the ones you want." Finally beginning to understand her role in the story, Elanor lifted her chin to the Uruk-Hai.

"Take me to Isengard!"


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3:**

Willing his legs to move faster, Aragorn sped up the hill as fast as he could, toward the sound of the Horn of Gondor. Fearing the worst, he was more than a little relieved when he saw Boromir standing by a tree, pulling arrows from his cloak.

"Boromir!" he called. "Are you hurt?"

"No," the man answered as Legolas and Gimli joined them. "Elanor! We must save her!"

"What has happened?"

"The Uruks took her, along with the little ones." He paused, looking at the arrow in his hand. "She seemed…willing to go with them." He looked up at Aragorn. "What of Frodo and Sam?"

"They continue on to Mordor," said Legolas. "They have reached the Eastern shore. If we hurry…" At the look Aragorn gave him, he stopped. "You mean not to follow them?"

"Frodo must finish this journey alone."

Gimli frowned. "Then the Fellowship has failed…"

"No!" said Boromir. "We cannot abandon the Hobbits and Elanor to torment and death."

Aragorn nodded. "Leave all that can be spared behind. And travel light. Let's hunt some orc!"

The men began to make their way up the hill. Gimli growled in anticipation.

"Yee haw!" cried Legolas.

They stopped, and looked back at him.

He shrugged.

Then, everything began to blur. They cried out, but could do nothing as the world around them began to fall away. For a split-second, everything went dark, and then a new image began to form. They stood in a dark tower. Orcs surrounded them. Though none had ever been there before, they all knew where they were. The dark tower of Orthanc, home of Saruman.

The Orcs around them snarled and sprang forward. Legolas drew his bow, Gimli his ax, and the men their swords, but the Orcs were all stopped by a single word.

"Chill."

The Orcs moved away, and they saw Elanor, sitting in Saruman's throne. She was dressed in a beautiful purple gown, a circlet of silver upon her brow. Her legs were slung over one of the arms of the throne and a plate of grapes was balanced on her stomach. She sipped from a goblet, and two Uruk-Hai flanked either side of the throne, fanning her with impossibly large feathers.

She smiled. "Hello, boys."

Boromir stepped forward. "Lady Elanor," he began, his voice shaking as he tried to control his shock. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Where are Merry and Pippin?" Aragorn demanded. "What have you done with them?"

Elanor smiled and pointed her finger. "They're over there."

The assembled members of the Fellowship followed her gaze to a doorway, through which came the shouting voice of Pippin. A moment later, Merry burst through the door, riding on the back of a giant white rat.

"It's my turn, Merry!" cried Pippin. He stopped abruptly as he realized that there were other people in the room. "Oh, hello," he said.

Merry let out a laugh and held out his arms, wobbling a little on the back of the giant rat. "Welcome, my Lords, to Isengard."

Pippin, grinning largely, grabbed his own goblet of wine and threw himself down onto a pile of pillows just next to Elanor's throne.

"And where is the Lord of Orthanc?" Aragorn said harshly, unwilling to believe what he saw with his own two eyes. "Where is Saruman?"

Elanor smirked, and snapped her fingers. Merry let out a cry as the white rat upon which he was sitting turned back into Saruman the wizard, looking very put-out to have a Hobbit on his shoulders.

"Enough!" shouted Saruman, as Merry climbed down his back. "You have had your fun!" He walked up to Elanor and stared her in the face. "You may have control of my fighting Uruk-Hai, and of the land of Isengard, but the will of Sauron is not so easily overcome! The Dark Lord will have you crawl--"

Elanor snapped her fingers.

"--but not before I do a little shufflin' off to Buffalo!" cried the wizard, going into a jaunty tap-dance.

"That oughta keep him busy for a while," Elanor muttered before turning to the others.

"What is the meaning of this?" asked Aragorn.

"That, my friends, is a long story," Elanor replied. "Why don't you have a seat?" Large and very comfortable-looking chairs appeared directly behind the four, with a smaller one for Gimli. They were plush and covered in soft velvety fabric. Before any of them could think to protest, an invisible force pushed them into the chairs. Orcs got down on their hands and knees in front of them.

"Footrests," Elanor explained. Then she sighed. "Like I said, it's a long story, and the last thing I want to do is explain it more than once." She snapped her fingers again, and more chairs appeared. A split-second later they were filled with Frodo, Sam, Lord Elrond, Arwen, Haldir, Lady Galadriel, Gandalf, Bilbo, and a strange man in ragged clothing and the look of a sailor.

"Who are you?" Elrond asked the strange man.

The man put up his hands and grinned. "I'm Cap'n Jack Sparrow."

Elrond turned to Elanor with and raised eyebrow. She giggled. "Don't mind him, he's just there for fun."

Captain Sparrow turned to Legolas. "Don't I know you?"

Elanor cleared her throat loudly, and all the attention was back on her. "Okay, I guess you're all wondering why you're here. Well, I know what that feels like, believe me. I've been trying to figure out why I'm here for the past five years. But, I think I've finally figured it out." She winked at Galadriel. "I'm in a fan fiction."

There was a pause, and the others in the room tried to figure out exactly what she meant by that, and why she thought it explained anything.

Saruman did a kick-ball change in the background.

"See, here's the thing," she continued. "I'm not who you think I am. Well, judging from the extremely cryptic and annoyingly accurate information I've gotten in bits and pieces from Gandalf and Galadriel, I assume they know who I am. And Haldir knows I'm not right…but anyway. My name's not Elanor, I'm not from Bree. And contrary to what you may believe, I know exactly where I came from, and I don't have the power of Foresight."

"I knew that," Elrond pouted.

"So did I," added Arwen.

Elanor nodded. "Believe me, if I actually knew the future, I'd be at the nearest Powerball station before you could say 'win for life'." She laughed, but her mirth died down upon seeing the looks on the others' faces. "Lottery jokes are pretty much gonna be lost on you guys, huh?"

Saruman let loose an impressive leap that drew attention away from Elanor's failed joke.

"Just where are you from, Lady?" asked Gimli accusingly. "And why do you seem to have such a hold over Saruman the White?"

Elanor took a breath. "I'm from British Columbia."

Gimli raised an extremely bushy eyebrow. "I have never heard of such a land."

"Well, you wouldn't. It's in another world altogether. And enough with the Lady crap. The name's Claire. Anyhoo, this one day I'm walking home from the library after returning this book I just read. Pretty good story, but if you ask me, way over-written. Maybe you've heard of it? The Lord of the Rings?"

There were a few pointed looks, but no real reaction.

"No? It's a good title though," she pointed at Frodo, "you keep that in mind. Anyway, all of a sudden there's this big flash of light, and I'm falling ass-over-teakettle into the woods of Lothlorien. I landed on tall, blonde and snooty over there," she nodded to Haldir. "And all of a sudden I realize that I'm in the book!" She popped a grape into her mouth. "Pretty wild, huh? I mean some of the dialogue was different and I seem to remember the Council of Elrond being a lot longer, but the events are all the same. But did I turn up during the crap I just read about? Noooooo, of course I had to show up five frigging years before the action starts."

For the most part, no one spoke or even moved. They were all just trying to wrap their heads around what Elanor, or Claire, was telling them.

Then, Pippin leaned over to Merry. "Is Saruman singing?"

_"We built this city! We built this city on rock and roll…"_

"Alright, settle down, Count Dooku," cried Elanor, and with a wave of her hand, he sat with his hands folded over his luminous white robes."My Lady," said Boromir tentatively. "What does this have to do with us?"

"And it still does not explain the Wizard's peculiar behavior," Gimli added.

"I'm gettin' to that," she said. "Like I said, I'm in a fan fiction. "Now since I'm the only person in the world who knows enough about me to write myself into a fanfic, I deduce that I must be the one writing it. And that means that I am in control."

She smiled.

Saruman began to do the Macarena. A line of Uruk-Hai joined him. Elanor clapped when they were done, and then waved her hand.

"You may go." They left, Saruman shooting her a look. She winked at him and he skipped around the room once before going out the door. She turned to the rest of them. "Now, as for you guys…"

Elrond was suddenly wearing sunglasses. He stood and turned to Elanor.

"Hobbits are a disease…"

Elanor burst out laughing. "Hey--hey Elrond!" she cried between fits of uncontrollable laughter. "You think we can handle one little girl?"

He raised an eyebrow. "No lieutenant, your men are already dead."

"_HA!"_

The others looked on in confusion. She was laughing so hard that she began to cough, and held her goblet aloft towards the door through which Saruman had gone.

"Yo, Powder!" she called. "Fill 'er up."

* * *

The wind swept through her hair as she looked out over the bow of the ship. The ocean winked back at her, the brightest blue she'd ever seen, stretching on for miles and miles, making her feel like the king of the world, and utterly insignificant at the same time. 

She closed her eyes and felt a strong arm encircle her waist. Lips brushed ever-so-gently against the flesh of her neck, so softly that she could have mistaken the kiss for a breath against her skin. She leaned into the embrace, spreading her arms like wings, allowing the wind to flow through her, whipping the blue fabric of her dress back against the form of the man she loved, her white shawl wound tightly around her arms so that it wouldn't get away.

"I'm flying, Boromir!" she whispered.

She turned to look him in the face. Granted, he did look kind of funny in Leonardo Dicaprio's little vest, but damn she looked good as a redhead.

"Kiss me, my love."

But nothing happened. Elanor raised her eyebrows.

"Hello? Fanfic author making a demand, here?" Still he did not move. "What's the matter with you?"

Suddenly the ground below her began to shake. Her hands gripped the railings of the Titanic and strangely she found that she could not move away, nor could she make the illusion disappear. As the ground below her gave way, she managed one final look up at Boromir's face.

"Uh oh."

And then she was falling.

* * *

She landed with a cry on her backside, and groaned as she stood. She appeared to have fallen into a large hole, but she could see no trace of the room above her. Indeed it seemed that the chasm went on and on, but she had not fallen so far. Rubbing her sore backside, she looked up to the side of the ditch to see that there was something written there. In the dim lighting, she just barely managed to make it out. 

"Plot hole?"

"Yep," said a familiar voice from behind her.

She turned swiftly to see…herself. Truth be told, it only barely looked like her. The hair was much shorter, and curled around a rounder face, on which sat a thin pair of glasses. She was dressed in a tight pair of light blue jeans and a red velvet top with flaired sleeves, over which was a beaded vest. Her hands were on her hips and she looked very annoyed.

"Who are you?" Elanor asked in wonder.

"I would have thought it was obvious," she snapped. "But judging from the last three pages or so, I guess not." She folded her arms over her chest and shifted her weight to one foot in a very patronizing way. "I'm Claire."

"That's impossible," said Elanor. "_I'm_ Claire."

"No, you're Elanor," the strange, glaring woman insisted. "You're the character I created five years ago when I read 'The Fellowship of the Ring' for the first time."

Elanor was suddenly worried. "So I'm not writing this fan fiction?" Claire shook her head, and Elanor swallowed loudly. "Oh. Oops?"

"You and me are gonna have to clear some things up here." Claire pushed her glasses up her nose. "First of all, I went along with the Agent Smith jokes, because who doesn't watch Fellowship and mentally add 'Mr. Anderson' to the end of all of Elrond's lines? But honey, you can only screw with the characters for so long before it starts to get tedious. I mean the last thing I need is an entire chapter of you pointing at Sam and calling him Rudy."

"Or Mikey," Elanor broke in.

Clair nodded. "Jokes like that are fine every once in a while, but they're no basis for a story. You're my Mary Sue, it doesn't work if you have a personality."

"I'm just trying to make things interesting."

"Interesting? I'm doing a tenth walker fic, here! It's not supposed to be interesting. It's supposed to be a medium for adolescent girls to imagine themselves following the Fellowship and using sheer will to make Legolas fall madly in love with them."

Elanor's eyes widened. "Legolas?"

"Yeah that's another thing," Claire added with a huff. "What is going on between you and Richard Sharpe over there, huh?" Elanor looked at her blankly. "Boromir!"

"Oh, Boromir. Well, I don't know. I mean, I remember him as being kind of an asshole in the book but…now I think he's kind of sweet."

"Ew, no! I've been doing the classic Legolas romance formula. First he's suspicious of you, then he grows to like you, and then one day he shields you from Orc arrows with his lithe body and--"

"Oh God, please stop now before you embarrass yourself!" shouted Elanor.

"And Titanic? Couldn't you have done the fire escape scene in Pretty Woman or the finale from Dirty Dancing? I mean, have a _little_ class for God's sake!"

"Well, you're the author, why'd you have to make Boromir like me?"

"Hey, I just come up with the ideas. I've been writing long enough to know that plots like these develop on their own. Believe me, if it were up to me, he wouldn't have survived the Uruk-Hai attack."

Elanor's eyes widened. "You would have let him die?"

"It's canon!"

"It's horrible!"

"Look, you don't get the reader's perspective. He's not a very lovable character. He needs the noble death to redeem himself. Otherwise he's just not likable."

"Bitch, nobody talks about mah man like that!" Elanor shouted with a snap of her fingers.

Claire raised her eyebrow.

Elanor cleared her throat.

"I--I don't know where that came from. Sorry."

Claire sighed. "This has gone far enough."

"Well, what do you suppose we do about it?"

"We've got to go back to the Breaking of the Fellowship. We have to play it the way it was supposed to be. Frodo and Sam go to Mordor, Merry and Pippin are captured by Uruk-Hai, and Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli go after them."

"And Boromir?"

Claire gave her character a sympathetic look. "It has to happen, Elanor. There's this whole thing later with his dad and a barbecue and it just doesn't work if he's alive. I'm sorry but messing with J.R.R. Tolkien's masterpiece would be like--"

"Inserting a character based entirely upon yourself to further a child-like fantasy of one day finding adventure and romance in your humdrum and otherwise meaningless existence?" Elanor supplied.

There was a pause.

"I'm going to ignore that," said Claire.

"Right. So we go back to the beginning."

"Not the beginning, just the breaking. Come on, I'll let you choose who you get to go with."

"Does anybody else die?"

"Now what kind of an author would I be if I gave away the ending?"

"The kind that resorts to cheesy self-insert--"

"Save it."

Elanor sighed, feeling the last bits of her resistance draining away. True, it had been fun to mess with the characters, but how long would it be before Saruman's energetic rendition of Thoroughly Modern Millie got old?

"Right," she said, nodding her head.

Claire smiled. "So, who do you want to go with?"

Elanor thought about the Fellowship leaving Lothlorien. She had promised Frodo that she wouldn't let him do it alone. Plus the idea of running across Middle Earth with three sweaty males held no appeal to her. And lord knows what Uruk-Hai smelled like when _they_ started to sweat.

"I guess, Frodo and Sam."

Claire nodded. "They won't have any memory of this. It'll be like nothing happened. You won't have the kind of power you have now but…I might let you get away with little things. And I promise you won't die."

"Well, there's a plus."

"Ready?" Claire asked. She reached out her hand as if to snap her fingers.

"Wait!" Elanor cried, covering Claire's hand with her own. "I still have one, teeny weeny little condition."

Claire raised an eyebrow.

* * *

"Frodo! Behind you!" 

The hobbit just had enough time to duck out of the way of the Uruk Hai's sword as it swung for his head. Lady Elanor came bursting through the forest, sword in hand, and blocked the blows that followed. Frodo in his fright, backed up against a tree and could only watch as the tiny girl fought with a speed and strength that he had never seen in any human, let alone a young woman.

Two more Uruk Hai joined the fray, but were put down immediately by the work of Elanor's blade. She let out a feral battle cry as she twisted the neck of the final monster to cross her path.

Hardly even sweating, she reached out to help Frodo up.

He gazed at her with wide, incandescent eyes. "What are you?" he asked.

Elanor sighed. "It's time you knew the truth, Frodo," she said, putting away her sword. "I'm from another world, far away from here. In that world, I'm known as the Vampire Slayer. One girl in all the world with the strength and skill™ to kill the demons."

Frodo let out a gasp of awe, and gripped the One Ring© in his hand. "Elanor," he asked in a whisper, "will you help me?"

Elanor smiled.

"Let's rock this bitch."

The End.


End file.
